


Double Trouble

by scatterglory



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Magic, Mates, Parallel Universes, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dereks face off across the small clearing he’d been running through, and Stiles realizes with a sick, sinking sensation that he’s not actually seeing double.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** This is a work of fan-love! I claim no ownership, and make no profit. :)
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: This handwaves through how they dealt with the Alpha pack, and will probably be null and void as soon as the first ep of season 3 airs. Also, Jackson and Lydia are part of the pack because of reasons. Woo canon divergence!

" _Fuck_!”  
  
Stiles’ breath whooshs out of him in a puff of shock and fear as he hits the ground.  Dry leaves fly up into his face, and he gasps and chokes and struggles as the solid weight on his back presses him into the forest floor.  
  
“Gotcha,” someone rumbles, low and pleased, in his ear.  
  
Stiles freezes, his heart beating a mile a minute as warm breath whispers over his cheek.  “D-Derek?”  
  
Then he’s being flipped over, and blinking up in confusion as the Alpha crouches comfortably on top of him, grinning down at him from mere inches away.  
  
The _Alpha_. Is _grinning_.  At _him_.  
  
And it could just be impending death clouding his judgement, but it doesn’t look like an I’m-going-to-rip-your-face-off-and-then-eat-you grin either.  Stiles blinks in surprise as he realizes something else--for the first time in the two years he’s known the Alpha, Derek’s actually wearing _color_.  Green, specifically--the material of his sweater looks soft and warm, which, no, Alpha Derek Hale does not do _cuddly_.  
  
Stiles’ thoughts grind to a halt as Derek bends down and rubs his nose over Stiles’ cheek.    
  
“I thought you weren’t coming by until later,” Derek murmurs-- _murmurs_ , gentle and intimate and pleased, and--  
  
“L-later?”  Stiles’ brain might actually be broken.  Derek’s still sitting on him--and hi, there is honest-to-god physical contact _below the belt_ going on here, what the _actual fuck_ \--and yeah, Stiles is still terrified of the dude most of the time despite all the hunter/kanima/alpha pack shenanigans they’ve been through, but he’s not blind and also _still a virgin_ , thank you cruel universe, and it’ll only be so long before this gets _super awkward--_  
  
Derek shifts slightly, hips rolling over Stiles’, and Stiles definitely stops breathing.  
  
“You should’ve told me you wanted to go for a run.”  Derek sits up enough to look him up and down, still grinning.  “We could’ve had a much better chase.”    
  
And...that’s a leer.  Oh God.  
  
“Ch-chase?” Stiles repeats weakly.  
  
Then Derek’s bending down again, nosing along Stiles’ jaw, breath hot and wet over his skin.  “You know what it does to me when you wear your red hoodie,” he growls.  
  
Stiles must have hit his head when he fell, there’s no other explanation, because this absolutely _can’t be happening--_  
  
Derek’s teeth nip at his neck, and Stiles knows this is it, he’s going to die this time, he just wishes he knew what he’d done to make the Alpha finally carry through on all his throat-ripping threats...  
  
Derek freezes, then pulls away slightly, brow wrinkled in confusion.  “Why do you smell like fear?”  
  
Whatever answer Stiles tries to make is drowned out by an ear-shattering roar.  Derek’s eyes instantly turn red and Stiles sees the flash of his fangs before a black blur slams into him, ripping him away.  Heart in his throat, Stiles scrambles up and backwards until his back hits a tree, gasping and blinking and rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, because he’s seeing Derek, half-changed and snarling and staring down...Derek.  
  
Head injury. Yep.  
  
The Dereks face off across the small clearing he’d been running through, and Stiles realizes with a sick, sinking sensation that he’s not actually seeing double.  The new Derek’s wearing his standard black leather jacket, and is squarely positioned between sweater-Derek and Stiles.  Stiles can’t see leather-Derek’s face, but sweater-Derek keeps glancing over at Stiles with something like worry, and he’s obviously edging around the clearing, trying to get between Stiles and his double.  
  
Who’s not really on board with that.  Without warning, leather-Derek lunges at sweater-Derek and they go down in a heap of snarling teeth and slashing claws.    
  
Stiles can’t tell what’s going on, but then sweater-Derek breaks away and charges towards him, knocking him to the ground and crouching over him, still snarling.  Stiles braces himself for the feeling of claws, teeth, _something_ , and it takes several seconds before he realizes everything’s gone quiet.  
  
Too quiet.  
  
Like, _seconds-before-nuclear-detonation_ quiet.  
  
Carefully, _carefully_ twisting underneath his Derek-shaped cage, he cranes his neck and follows the werewolf’s gaze.  
  
Leather-Derek is frozen in mid-lunge, staring at sweater-Derek with burning eyes.  Sweater-Derek’s growling, low and deep in his throat, and Stiles can feel it vibrate through his body.  
  
“Get. Off. Of. Him.”  Stiles can barely understand the words that leather-Derek forces out around his fangs.    
  
Sweater-Derek’s growl deepens, and he crouches even lower, until his chest is brushing Stiles’.  “No.”  
  
Leather-Derek starts growling, and Stiles must have some sort of death wish, because he wiggles one hand free and jabs sweater-Derek in the side.  
  
“Dude, get _off_.”  
  
“Shut up, Stiles.” And woah, Stiles has never heard that in stereo before.  Leather-Derek’s face twitches, looking vaguely disgruntled, before the growling starts again.    
  
Stiles squirms, and pokes sweater-Derek again.  “No, seriously.  If I’m going to get ripped apart in some bizarre twilight-zone battle of the clones, I’d at least like to be able to appreciate the view.”  
  
And whoops, that was _not_ what he meant to say.  
  
If anything, it just makes sweater-Derek crouch even lower.  “I won’t let him near you.”  
  
Leather-Derek snarls, and sweater-Derek snaps his teeth.  
  
“If you hurt him,” growls leather-Derek, “I’ll rip you apart.”  
  
Wait, what?  
  
“Wait, what?”  Stiles asks, twisting even more.  “Are you both _protecting_ me?”  
  
“Shut _up_ , Stiles,” the Dereks chorus again, and even doubled, that level of exasperation should _not_ be possible.  
  
“No, hang on, this is good!  I’m totally on board with neither of you wanting to kill me!”  
  
“Not. Funny,” grinds out sweater-Derek, at the same time that leather-Derek snaps, “Don’t push your luck.”  Sweater-Derek’s growling amps up to eleven, and that is the opposite of what is good.  
  
“Dude, seriously, _calm down_.  He was just joking, right?”  He cranes his neck to look at leather-Derek, who blinks at him.  
  
“That was totally a yes.  Can you let me up now?”  
  
No one moves, and Stiles holds his breath.    
  
Some sort of werewolf communication must pass between the Dereks, because all of a sudden he’s being pulled up and back against sweater-Derek’s chest.  
  
It’s not actually much of an improvement, but he’ll take it.  
  
“Great.  Now, I think we all just need to chill out--”  He chokes off as the arm around his stomach tightens.  
  
“I don’t know who you are,” snarls sweater-Derek, and Stiles has a moment of absolute confusion before he realizes the snarl wasn’t addressed to him, “but you’re not _touching_  my _mate_.”  
  
*   *   *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and inspiring kudos! Have a bit more... :)

“So, let’s go over this again.  What’s the last thing you remember?”  Stiles is spinning nervously in his chair, carefully not looking either Derek in the face when his eyes pass over them.    
  
Leather-Derek--the _actual, official_ Derek, as it turns out--is slouching in the corner like the creeper he is, having said barely two words together since Stiles managed to talk them out of killing each other defending his honor or some shit.  
  
Sweater-Derek, on the other hand, is lounging on Stiles’ bed like he belongs there, although his face started doing this weird scrunchy thing when he first entered Stiles’ room and hasn’t stopped yet.  Which, distracting, so--  
  
“Dude, what’s with the face?”  
  
Sweater-Derek glances at him guiltily.  “What face?”  
  
“That one.”  Stiles attempts to imitate it, which just makes sweater-Derek scrunch even more.  He ducks his head nervously and mumbles something that Stiles can’t make out, but that makes leather-Derek growl warningly.  
  
“Knock it off,” Stiles snaps at him, before turning back to his bed.  “No fair, not all of us have wolf hearing.”  
  
“I said, it smells wrong in here,” sweater-Derek says, barely loud enough to hear.  
  
Interesting.  “Wrong how?”  
  
Neither of the Dereks reply, and Stiles frowns slightly. “Is this related to the mate thing you were telling us about on the drive over?”  And okay, ‘telling’ might be an exaggeration because it was like pulling teeth to get either of them to talk at all, but the question stands.  
  
Sweater-Derek shifts uncomfortably.  “Yes,” he admits, like saying the word actually hurts.  “It should smell like you and me.  It just smells like you.”  
  
“Huh.”  And nope, Stiles is not actually ready to deal with that yet.  Back to the original question it is.  “Okay.  Um.  So, what’s the last thing you remember?”    
  
Sweater-Derek shrugs and leans back on his elbows.  His eyes flicker to leather-Derek as his legs sprawl open and wow, did the room suddenly get really, really hot? “Last night, I left when your dad’s car pulled up, and went home.”    
  
Stiles can feel himself blushing.  “Okay.  So, you left my, um, my room, and went home, and then you tackled me in the woods?”  
  
Sweater-Derek shrugs again.  “I went patrolling this morning. I caught your scent, and went to find you.”  
  
“Okay.”  That’s definitely not what Stiles remembers.  He looks over at leather-Derek, who’s frowning like it’s going out of style.    
  
So not what he remembers, either.  Stiles swallows, mouth suddenly dry.  
  
Sweater-Derek glances between the two of them.  “What do you remember?”  
  
And it’s Stiles’ turn to mumble.  “We had a fight last night.  About Scott.” Leather-Derek growls softly.  
  
Sweater-Derek cocks his head to the side.  “What about him?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles says hurriedly, trying not to examine the little voice inside him warning him that sweater-Derek has no right to ask about pack business.  He’s still Derek, it makes no sense.  “What matters right now is that it sounds like you’re from some, I don’t know, _parallel dimension_ or something where you and I--”    
  
“Are mates,” sweater-Derek says, fixing Stiles with a stare that makes his breath catch in his throat.   
  
“That, yeah,” he says weakly.  
  
The room’s silent for a second, before leather-Derek pushes off the wall and stalks over to the window.  
  
“Try calling Deaton again,” he grits out.  
  
Stiles fumbles for his phone and redials the vet, who’s of course picked the worst weekend ever to go out of town.  When the call goes to voicemail, he sighs and hangs up.  “Okay.  So, assuming Deaton calls back eventually, that still doesn’t mean he’ll be able to help.  My dad’s out of town for the weekend for that law enforcement convention thing, but there’s no way I’ll be able to explain hanging out with one, much less two, Dereks when he gets back--”  
  
“Dee.”  
  
“What?”  Stiles looks at sweater-Derek, who’s picking at imaginary lint on the bed.   
  
“You haven’t called me ‘Derek’ since that night at the pool,” he says quietly.  
  
Stiles swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.  “O-okay.  That’s, um--” _terrifyingly specific_ , “easier.”  
  
Sweater-Derek-- _Dee_ \--flashes him a shy smile, and Stiles swears he can feel his heart speed up.  Leather-Derek--just Derek, now--shoots him a death glare.  
  
Ears burning, Stiles turns around.  “Okay.  Um.  I’m gonna do some research while we wait for Deaton to call back.  You guys just...try not to kill each other.”  
  
He thinks he hears two muttered, “No promises,” but resolutely ignores them.  
  
*   *   *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement! This next bit is dedicated to my head-canon Stiles, who is accidentally a magical BAMF. :)

They’re in the middle of the world’s most awkward, growly pizza dinner when Deaton finally returns Stiles’ call.  
  
“That’s...concerning,” the vet says mildly, when Stiles has finished flailing through an epic freak out.  He’s in the living room by himself--the desire for the illusion of privacy (stupid werewolf hearing, _honestly_ ) has outweighed his fear of leaving the two Alphas alone together.  
  
“ _Concerning_?” Stiles hisses.  “It’s more than _concerning_ , this is an emergency!”  
  
“Mmm.”  The vet’s quiet for a moment.  “Well.  I’ll be back in a week, but I’m guessing you don’t want to wait till then to resolve this?”  
  
“Um, _duh_.”  
  
“Very well.  Let’s go over what you did last night.”  
  
“ _Me_?” Stiles doesn’t yelp.  “Why does that matter?”  
  
“Because,” Deaton explains patiently, “this has all the markings of magic.  And since none of my protections have been tripped by an outside force, it’s most likely something you did--intentionally or not.”  
  
“‘Be the spark’?” Stiles asks sarcastically.  
  
“Exactly.  Now, what happened last night?”  
  
Stiles closes his eyes, because his _favorite_ thing to do is to think about how even though they’ve fought together, almost died together, and saved each other’s lives more than once, he and Derek can’t be alone for more than five minutes without it turning into a fight that more often than not involves bodily harm to Stiles.  
  
“I went over to Derek’s, we had a fight about him still not letting Scott join the pack, I left and came home and tried to make that new blend of mountain ash we’d talked about, and it didn’t work so I went to bed,” he gets out in a rush.  
  
“What happened with the mountain ash?” Deaton asks carefully.  
  
Stiles shrugs.  “I dunno.  I did everything according to your notes, but it just kind of sparked and then turned black.  No smoke or hissing or anything.”  
  
“What were you thinking about when you were mixing the ash?”  
  
“Um, getting it right.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Stiles swallows.  “So I might have been a little distracted, does it matter?”  
  
“Yes.”  Even over the phone, Stiles can tell Deaton’s patience is wearing thin.  “The key to preparing the mountain ash is concentration.  Given the power you've demonstrated already, if you were thinking about anything other than wards and protection, it could have interfered with the spell.”    
  
Crap.  “Okay.  But what does that have to do with the whole Derek situation?”  
  
“I can’t answer that until you tell me what you were thinking about.”  
  
Stiles glances towards the kitchen door, before heading upstairs.  Maybe if he talks really, really softly, they won’t be able to hear him.    
  
“So, I might have been thinking about Derek,” he admits.  His stomach clenches, and the words stick in his throat.  
  
“Go on,” Deaton says gently.  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath.  “And I might have thought--just for a second, I didn’t even mean it, it’s totally stupid--that it would be awesome if in some alternate reality, there was a Derek who actually--” _liked me_.  
  
He trails off, but Deaton mercifully doesn’t call him on it.  
  
“A summoning spell,” the vet states.    
  
“A what?”  
  
“It sounds like your intention--your desire for Derek--transformed your protection spell into a summoning spell.”  
  
And that’s all sorts of not okay.  “Woah, hey, I don’t have _desire_ for Derek, okay, and that doesn’t even make sense!  It’s not like he appeared in my kitchen wearing nothing but a bow--” and wow, _so_ not helping his case, “so how do you explain that?”  
  
He can practically hear Deaton shrug over the phone.  “I can’t.  Perhaps he didn’t slip into our world until you were close to where he was in his own.”  
  
Like running through the woods by his house.  Nice one, Stiles.    
  
Stiles takes a deep breath.  “Okay.  Assuming I buy this at all--which I _don’t_ , just to be clear--how do I fix it?”  
  
Deaton makes a thoughtful noise.  “I might have a spell I can adapt for you.  And of course, you’ll have to truly want to send the new Derek back to his world.”  
  
“Dee,” Stiles corrects softly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing.”  Stiles bites his lip.  “So you’ll send me the spell?”  
  
“I’ll have to look for it and determine how to alter it, but I should be able to get it to you in a day or so.”  
  
“A day or so.  Right.”    
  
He barely registers Deaton saying goodbye and hanging up, his mind stuck on the idea of having to run interference between the two Alphas for a day or more.  He stumbles back downstairs and enters the kitchen nervously.    
  
Derek and Dee are glaring at each other over the remains of the pizza, looking like they haven’t so much as blinked since he’d left them to take Deaton’s call.    
  
Letting out a tense breath, Stiles makes the executive decision to bring in the big guns.  Both Alphas’ eyes lock on him when he starts typing out the mass text.  
  
 _Pack meeting, Derek’s place, one hour.  We’ve got a problem._  
  
*   *   *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler today, feels tomorrow! Thank you for all the positive feedback! :D

Stiles thanks his (admittedly faint, it feels like) lucky stars when the unflappable Boyd is the first to arrive.  The beta barely makes it into the now-almost-livable living room of the Hale house before he freezes.  Stiles watches him take in the sight of the two Alphas, standing as far away from each other as physically possible.    
  
“Stiles,” Boyd says calmly.  “What the hell’s going on?”  
  
“I’ll tell you when everyone else gets here,” he promises.  Boyd raises an eyebrow, but shrugs and takes a seat on the couch without comment.  
  
Luckily, the rest of the pack follows Boyd’s example with a minimum of backtalk, although Erica manages to make both Derek’s and Dee’s eyes flash red before she settles down between Isaac and Boyd on the couch.  Jackson and Lydia arrive after the betas and curl up together in an overstuffed easy chair that Stiles had found on the side of the road.  Scott’s the last to arrive, and Derek glares at Stiles.  
  
“He’s not part of the pack,” Derek says flatly, and Stiles doesn’t miss the way Scott’s shoulders slump, then stiffen.  
  
“He fought the alphas with us,” Stiles snaps, chest clenching with the anger of the night before.  
  
“He betrayed us to the Argents,” Derek fires back.  
  
Dee takes a step forward, drawing everyone’s attention.  “Scott’s part of _my_ pack,” he says, crossing his arms and staring at Derek in an obvious challenge.  
  
Before Derek can respond, Stiles claps his hand together.  “And with that awesome introduction, allow me to present Dee.”  
  
Things just get more awkward from there.  
  
*   *   *  
  
“--and so we’re waiting for Deaton to get back to me with the spell to send Dee home,” Stiles finishes lamely.  While he’s been speaking (and _carefully avoiding_ certain details) about his conversation with Deaton, Derek’s gotten more and more scowly and Dee’s been slowly inching towards him.  “Any questions?  Not you, Erica.”  
  
Erica’s smirk vanishes, and she slumps back into the couch with a scowl that rivals Derek’s.  
  
Lydia makes a thoughtful noise, and Stiles’ stomach drops.  
  
“You said you found them both in the woods?” she asks, and Stiles narrows his eyes at her.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, how did Dee get here?”  She blinks sweetly at him, and he glares back.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” he grinds out.    
  
“You don’t know that,” Lydia presses.  “The littlest detail--”  
  
“I followed Stiles’ scent,” Dee says.  “Then your Derek showed up.  End of story.”    
  
He stares Lydia down, and Stiles feels a rush of gratitude.  Dee glances at him with a small smile, and he looks away quickly.    
  
“What do you want us to do?”  Isaac’s looking back and forth between Derek and Dee with a worried expression on his face.    
  
Hang around and keep them from killing each other.  “I don’t know, I just figured in case we can’t fix this, the pack should know,”  Stiles shrugs.  Boyd catches his eye and nods slightly, and Stiles has to remind himself that werewolves can’t actually read minds.    
  
Dee’s staring at him, and Stiles fidgets.  Lydia looks at them, and flashes a blatantly false smile.  “Okay, movie night it is!”  
  
“Wait, what?  No!”  Stiles’ eyes widen.  “That’s a terrible idea!”  
  
Erica glares at him, taking Lydia’s side.  “Why?  I think it’s a great idea.”  
  
Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it again.  Having the entire pack there and focused on a movie might actually work as a distraction, even if the thought of Derek and Dee in a dark room together gives him a sense of foreboding.    
  
“Fine,” he agrees, gritting his teeth, and Lydia and Erica smirk at him in victory.  
  
*   *   *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Have some pack feels. :)

The girls pick the movie, but Stiles is too preoccupied to pay attention to their selection.  Neither Scott nor Jackson complain, though, so it’s probably on the action-adventure end of the spectrum.  Erica, Boyd and Isaac are curled up on some pillows on the floor, and Scott’s sitting close to them but still apart.  Jackson and Lydia haven’t moved from the chair, and Stiles--  
  
Stiles is sitting squarely in the middle of the couch, with Derek on one side and Dee on the other.    
  
The Alphas are obviously trying to stay as far away from each other as possible, pressing against their respective couch arms.  Luckily for Stiles, this means that neither of them are touching him, although he still feels like a bone being eyed by two angry dogs.  He crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back into the couch, and Lydia starts the movie.  
  
They make it past the opening credits without incident, and Stiles is starting to breath a little easier, when the cushion on his left dips slightly.  Swallowing nervously, he forces himself not to react when Dee’s thigh nudges against his; he shoots Dee a glance out of the corner of his eye, but the Alpha’s staring straight ahead.  
  
It’s less than a minute before Derek’s foot hooks around his right ankle.  Stiles’ heart rate speeds up, and he shifts uncomfortably.  Unfortunately, when he settles, Dee’s shoulder is pressing firmly into his.  
  
It’s like a line of heat has been drawn down his left side.  Stiles clenches his fists on top of his thighs, and tries to breathe normally.  
  
Then Dee’s fingertips brush across the back of his hand, and Derek starts growling.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
The tension in the room spikes, and the movie pauses.  In sudden silence, Stiles sees the glowing eyes of the betas lock on the couch. Dee’s hand stops moving, coming to rest firmly on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles looks over at him with wide eyes.  Dee’s eyes are glowing red, and he’s staring at Derek without blinking.  
  
“Stop. Touching. Him,” Derek snarls.   
  
“No,” Dee replies in the same tone.  
  
Derek’s growl deepens, and Stiles feels him move, coiling into himself like he’s about to spring.  
  
“Woah, hey!”  Without thinking, Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm.  Dee’s grip on his thigh tightens, then relaxes.  “It’s okay.  Derek, it’s okay.”  
  
Derek fixes him with a burning stare, and there’s more than a hint of fang between his lips when he speaks.  “It’s not. Okay.”  
  
Stiles licks his lips nervously, and Derek’s red eyes track the movement.  “No, it’s fine.  Really.  I don’t--I don’t mind.”  He tries to rub his hand over Derek’s arm, to soothe him, but Derek jerks away like he’s been burned.  
  
“You don’t mind.”  
  
Stiles swallows, forcing himself to stay calm as Dee presses even closer.  “I--it’s that mate thing?  Right? No big deal.”  
  
Something flashes across Derek’s face, and then he’s off the couch with a snarl and out the door before Stiles can react.    
  
“Derek!”  Stiles tries to jump up and to go after him, but Dee pulls him back down.  Stiles falls backwards with a muffled _shit!_ , landing firmly in Dee’s lap.  Dee wraps Stiles in his arms, and Stiles gasps when soft lips brush over his ear.  
  
“Let him go,” Dee says quietly. “Trust me.  He needs space.”  
  
Stiles squirms.  “Trust you?” he hisses.  “Why should--”  
  
Dee’s arms tighten around him, cutting him off.  
  
“Settle down,” and that’s definitely a growl.  “You’re scaring the pack.”  
  
“ _I’m_ scaring--” He trails off as he looks at the wolves on the floor.  Four pairs of impossibly large, glowing eyes stare back, and he doesn’t have to be a werewolf to smell the fear and uncertainty in the room.  He slumps back into Dee’s chest.  “Okay.  Fine.  I’m calm.  Let me go.”  
  
“No,” Dee says in a soft, non-growly voice.  “They need this.”  
  
“Need wh--?”  
  
Then Dee’s sliding off the couch, pulling Stiles with him.  The betas shy away, and Dee places Stiles in the middle of the pillows before sinking down next to him.  Stiles freezes as Dee pulls him in close, forcing his cheek into the werewolf’s chest.    
  
“Isaac,” Dee rumbles as Stiles flashes hot all over.  “Come here.”  
  
From across the room, Isaac whines, but doesn’t move.  
  
“I said,” Dee’s voice deepens, “ _come here_.”  
  
Slowly, Isaac creeps towards them, panicked eyes locked on Stiles’.  He crouches next to Dee without touching him, and Stiles can see how he’s shaking even in the dark.  
  
With the hand that’s not currently wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders, Dee reaches up and cups the back of Isaac’s neck. The beta’s eyes flutter closed, and he collapses with a whimper, pressing his nose into Dee’s shoulder.  
  
“Erica.  Boyd.”  
  
The other betas crawl across the floor.  Erica hesitates for a moment, before cuddling up behind Isaac, her cheek rubbing in Dee’s hair.  Boyd stares at Dee for a long time, before curling himself above them so his knees press into Stiles’ back and his forehead rests on Dee’s temple.  
  
“Jackson.  Lydia.”  
  
Stiles sees Jackson’s yellow eyes flicker to Lydia.  The light from the paused movie dances over her skin as she nods, and then Jackson’s arranging himself at Dee’s feet, back pressed to Lydia’s front. Lydia catches Stiles’ gaze with an unreadable expression, before deliberately closing her eyes and wrapping an arm around her boyfriend’s stomach.  
  
“You too, Scott.”  
  
Scott’s there so fast it makes Stiles’ heart ache, ducking down in front of Isaac and laying his head on Dee’s stomach.  He throws an arm over Dee’s chest and Stiles starts slightly as Scott’s fingers close on his shoulder.  Looking over at his best friend, Stiles sees glowing eyes and a small smile, before Scott buries his face in Dee’s sweater.  
  
Something bursts in Stiles’ chest as Dee’s hand settles on the back of his neck.  A tiny voice in the back of him mind tells him that this should be weird, that Dee’s not actually his-- _their_ Derek, their _Alpha_ , that this is _wrong_.  
  
But he can feel the pack settling in around him, solid and warm, and before he can do, say, or think anything else, he’s asleep.  
  
*   *   *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented/kudo'd!
> 
> Fair warning, it's pretty much feels from here on out. :P

Stiles wakes slowly, surrounded by warmth as his eyes blink against the morning light.  He’s rolled onto his side, and a firm body’s pressed against his back.  He shifts slightly, and the arm around his stomach contracts.  Soft lips graze the back of his neck as warm breath whispers through his hair, and Stiles snuggles back into the embrace of...  
  
Dee.  
  
It all comes back to him in a rush, Dee and the pack and, oh god, _Derek_.  His eyes fly open as his body stiffens, and Dee growls softly behind him.  
  
Stiles freezes as Dee pulls him closer, nuzzling behind his ear.  Dee’s saying something but Stiles can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears, and Dee laughs softly.  
  
“I said, are you hungry?”  
  
Stiles swallows, mouth dry.  “I...could eat.”  
  
Dee runs his nose over Stiles’ neck, before pulling away.  Stiles hears the rest of the pack stir around them as Dee stands. He holds his hand out to Stiles, nodding towards the kitchen.  
  
“Come on.  Let’s see what there is for breakfast around here.”  
  
*   *   *  
  
They find eggs and bread in the spartan, recently-renovated kitchen, and Dee starts making scrambled eggs on toast before Stiles can do more than blink in surprise.  The rest of the pack trickles in sleepily just as he’s finishing the eggs, smiling in shy disbelief as Dee urges them to eat.  Stiles tries to focus on his breakfast, instead of the way that Dee comes to stand behind him, hands resting on Stiles’ hips as the werewolf leans in--  
  
Which is, of course, when Derek returns.  
  
The entire pack freezes when their Alpha appears in the doorway, forks stopping halfway to mouths and expressions varying from defiance to guilt to fear.  Stiles feels his face heat as Derek’s eyes flicker over the room, before locking on his.  Derek’s face is blank but a muscle in his jaw twitches.  
  
This time, when Derek leaves, Stiles struggles until Dee lets him go.  
  
By the time Stiles makes it outside, Derek is gone.  Huffing with annoyance, Stiles sets off into the woods.  
  
“Derek!”  His voice is jarring in the stillness of the woods.  “Derek! Come on, dude, I know you’re out here-- _fuck_!”  
  
All the breath flies out of his lungs as he’s slammed back against a tree.  Derek’s hands twist his shirt, and Stiles flinches.  Derek’s fangs are inches from his throat, and Stiles is so, so done with this.  
  
“What the _hell_ , dude,” he snaps, struggling in Derek’s grasp.  “This is what I get for coming after you?”  
  
“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growls, breath hot over Stiles’ neck.  “Shut up.”  
  
“No,” Stiles spits out.  “You don’t get to say that.  You _ran away_ , asshole.  Your pack was freaked out, and you ran away.   _Twice_.”  
  
Derek’s growl deepens, and his hands twist in Stiles’ shirt even more.  “That’s not the _point_.”  
  
“Why, because Dee’s here?”  Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Come on, it’s not like he’s replacing you--”  
  
“No?”  Derek’s eyes flash red.  “Because it smells like--”  He breaks off, and looks away.  
  
Stiles blinks.  “Don’t be stupid,” he says.  “Everyone was upset, and he was there.  That’s all.  It doesn’t mean--”  
  
“That you all rolled over for him?”  Derek’s voice is so low that Stiles almost doesn’t hear him.  The Alpha slowly raises his head, and his eyes are glowing.  A shiver of something almost like fear runs down Stiles’s spine.  
  
“That he called you, and you came?”  Derek’s voice is dark, rough.  
  
“I didn’t--” Stiles’ heart is pounding.  “It’s not--”  
  
“It’s pathetic!” Derek shouts in his face.  Stiles shrinks back into the tree, eyes wide. “The way _my pack_ , the way _you_ , were all over him!”  
  
Some snaps inside Stiles.  “You weren’t there!” he shouts back.  “You weren’t there, and he was--he _is_ \--and he’s _you_ , it’s the same thing--!”  
  
“It’s not the same!” Derek cuts him off.  “It’s disgusting and _wrong_ , because you’re _not his_ , and he’s _not yours_!”    
  
Derek stops abruptly, mouth snapping shut as his eyes go wide.  Stiles sees something raw and vulnerable flash across the Alpha’s face, and he slowly reaches up...  
  
Then Derek’s face shuts down.  “It’s _pathetic_ ,” he repeats, spitting the word like poison. ‘You--you’re all _pathetic_.”  
  
Something cold and heavy settles in the pit of Stiles’ stomach, and his hand falls to his side.  “Wow,” he says, staring steadily into Derek’s eyes.  “Okay.  Maybe you’re right.”    
  
Derek’s eyes narrow, and Stiles feels a strange calmness wash over him.  “Maybe we are pathetic.”  
  
Derek’s jaw clenches, but he stays quiet as Stiles continues.  “If it’s pathetic to actually want your Alpha _give a damn_ about you, then fine.  We’re pathetic.”  
  
Derek actually flinches.  “Stiles--”  
  
“No, it’s okay, I get it now.”  Stiles can feel his voice raising, calmness melting away to anger.  “Dee’s not even our Alpha, but he _cares_ about us, and you snarl and run away and slam people into trees!”  
  
Derek jerks back like he’s been slapped, but Stiles isn’t done--the words bubble up from somewhere deep inside him, pouring out before he can think.  “So yeah, maybe we do like him better, and you know what, Derek?  This--” his hands come up and actually shove Derek in the chest, “ _this_ is why!”  
  
The instant the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back.  
  
But it’s too late.  
  
Derek makes a tiny, pained noise, staggering back and letting go of Stiles so quickly he almost falls over.  Stiles reaches for him, guilt and shame washing over him.  “Derek--”  
  
Derek throws him a single, stricken glance, before disappearing into the woods.  
  
*   *   *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! :)

Stiles isn’t sure how long he stays in the forest, huddled down against a tree and staring blankly at the ground.  Derek’s long gone and the woods are quiet around him, sunlight slanting down through the trees and completely at odds with the aching in his chest.  If he breathes deeply enough, it’s like the past two days never even happened.  
  
The growling of his stomach is what finally snaps him out of it.  He shakes his head and climbs slowly to his feet.  He doesn’t remember walking back to the Hale house, but then Lydia’s there, cornering him on the porch with something almost like worry in her eyes.  
  
“Deaton called,” she says without preamble, pressing his phone into his hand.  A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine as she continues.  “Isaac wrote everything down.  Jackson took Scott to your place for supplies.  I supervised.”  
  
She turns to go back inside and Stiles follows numbly, almost running into her when she pauses.  She looks back at him and opens her mouth, then closes it with a frown and walks through the door.  
  
Dee’s sitting on the couch with Erica on one side and Scott on the other.  Isaac, Boyd and Jackson are sprawled out on the floor, and everyone’s watching some made-for-TV movie.  It’s so quiet and peaceful and _right_ that Stiles freezes in the doorway.  
  
The wolves turn to look at him as one, holding completely still as he stares back.  His eyes flicker to Dee just as the Alpha rises, and he hears Erica whine.  No one else makes a sound as Dee walks over to him, stopping close enough to touch.  
  
Stiles forces himself to meet the Alpha’s eyes, swallowing against the sick feeling in his stomach.  “It might take me a while to get everything set up,” he chokes out.  
  
Dee ducks his head in a nod, his hand twitching as though he wants to reach out--  
  
Stiles turns away before he can do something stupid, like bury his nose in Dee’s neck.  “Lydia,” and his voice only shakes a little, “where are the supplies?”  
  
*   *   *  
  
The pack watches him review Isaac’s notes and prepare the spell until he snaps at them to go back inside.  No one moves until Dee growls softly, and even then Stiles can feel the collective sulking as they slink away.  Luckily, Dee goes with them, and Stiles is able to focus long enough to get to work.  
  
It’s deceptively simple.  He hardly needs to prepare the ash at all, and creating the circle takes next to no time.  He leaves the gap that will allow Dee to enter, recites the words of his intention one more time under his breath, and then it’s time.  
  
Dee’s standing and waiting for him when he enters the living room, but the rest of the pack is curled up together on the floor, and the conspicuous gap between Boyd and Jackson makes his stomach clench.  The rest of the pack stay where they are, not looking at him or Dee as they leave the room.  Stiles hears a muffled whimper and rustling, but no one follows them.  He shoots a glance at Dee, who meets his eyes with a small half-smile.  
  
“Ready?” Dee asks.  
  
No.  “Yeah.  Just--stand there.”  Stiles points to the middle of the circle, and closes it as soon as the Alpha’s in position.  Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and begins to focus.  
  
“Stiles.”  Dee’s voice makes his eyes fly open.  The Alpha flashes a real smile, open and bright and just a little sad.  Stiles clenches his fists so hard his nails bite into his palms.  
  
“Thank you,” Dee says softly.  
  
Stiles nods jerkily, and closes his eyes again.  Taking a deep breath, he starts holding the intention in his mind.  
  
 _Send him home.  Send him home.  Send him home._  
  
He can feel the power building, rising around him like water.    
  
 _Send him home.  Send him home._  
  
His breathing his loud in his own ears, and the pain in his palms fades away.  
  
 _Send him home._  
  
Something swirls in the air between him and the circle, and Stiles bites his lip.  
  
 _Send him ho--_  
  
 _“You haven’t called me ‘Derek’ since that night at the pool.”_  
  
Dee’s voice whispers inside his head, and Stiles feels his focus falter.  The power bucks, and he almost opens his eyes.  
  
 _No!  Send him home!_  
  
 _“It should smell like you and me.”_  
  
 _Send him home!_  
  
 _“Scott’s part of_ my _pack.”_  
  
 _Send him--_  
  
 _“They need this.”_  
  
 _Send--_  
  
 _“You’re not_ touching _my_ mate.”  
  
 _Please--_  
  
 _"My mate.”_  
  
Stiles gasps, and the power around him surges forward.  There’s a hissing, crackling noise, and the smell of smoke, and a flash of light bursts behind his eyelids.  He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, staring at the smoke-filled circle of blackened ash.  
  
When the smoke clears, Dee’s staring back at him.  
  
Stiles doubles over and vomits until he blacks out.  
  
*   *   *


	8. Chapter 8

Derek’s bed is more comfortable than it looks, but Stiles can’t really bring himself to appreciate it.  The orange rays of the setting sun cast the room in a surreal light--he must have slept for hours.  He dimly recalls being carried, and someone holding a glass of water to his lips to chase away the taste of vomit on his tongue.  He’d woken up once to the hazy sensation of a body settling down behind him, but hadn’t done more than sigh before falling asleep again.  
  
Now, however, he’s alone, and the memory of his failure crashes over him.  He’s trying to remember how to breathe when he hears the floor creak behind him.  
  
“Go away,” he mumbles, burying his face in Derek’s bed.  
  
The bed dips, and a hand lands gently in his hair.  
  
“It’s okay,” Dee says softly.  “We can try again.”  
  
Stiles curls into himself, wrapping around a pillow.  “It’s not going to work,” he chokes out.  
  
Dee’s fingers card through his hair.  “It will.  You’ll make it work.”  
  
He sounds so sure, so trusting, and Stiles closes his eyes.  “I _can’t._ ”  
  
Dee moves closer, and when he speaks again, his voice is low in Stiles’ ear.  “Why?”  
  
Stiles bites his lip, shame pooling in his stomach.  “In order to make the spell work,” he forces out shakily, “I have to _want_ you to leave.”  
  
Dee’s hand freezes, and Stiles can’t breathe.  Then Dee’s pulling him up and backwards, pressing Stiles’ back against his front as he leans against the headboard.  His legs bracket Stiles’ hips, and Stiles can feel himself shaking as the werewolf ducks his head and rubs their cheeks together.  
  
“Remember our first kiss?”  he whispers.  
  
Stiles feels tears start to gather in his eyes.  “No,” he whispers back.  
  
“Remember when Scott officially joined the--joined _our_ \--pack?”  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut to hold the tears back.  “No.”  
  
“Remember the first time I told you I loved you?”  
  
Stiles lets out a sob.  “ _Dee_.”  
  
Dee falls silent, still holding Stiles against him, chest rising and falling as they breathe together.  
  
“You _smell_ the _same_ ,” Dee says after a long moment.  His voice sounds wrecked in a way Stiles has never heard before.  “I can’t stop _touching_ you. But--”  
  
 _You’re not his, and he’s not yours_.  
  
Derek’s words ring in his ears, and bile rises in the back of Stiles’ throat.  
  
“I’m _sorry_ \--” he begins, but Dee cuts him off.  
  
“I have to go _home_ , Stiles,”  he says, quiet desperation bleeding into his tone.  “ _Please_ send me home.”  
  
And then Stiles is crying for real, and Dee’s rocking him gently, not letting him go.  Stiles clings to his arms and presses back into Dee’s warm, strong chest, and Dee nuzzles into his hair.  
  
“Do you know how werewolves find our mates?”  he asks.  
  
Blinking around his tears, Stiles shakes his head.  
  
Dee inhales deeply, breath ghosting through Stiles’ hair when he speaks.  “By the way their scents call to us.”  He dips his head and runs his nose along Stiles’ jaw.    
  
“I know lots of things are different here,” he says slowly.  “But some things are the same.”  
  
Stiles goes cold all over as Dee’s words sink in.  He twists in Dee’s arms, needing to see him when he asks, “Then why--?”  
  
Dee’s eyes are wide, their faces inches apart.  Stiles’s breath catches in his throat as Dee’s eyes flicker down to his lips.  
  
Neither of them move.  Stiles can feel his heart starting to pound, and Dee makes a whimpering noise in the back of his throat.  
  
“I--”  Dee swallows thickly.  “I need to go.  Run.”  He pulls away sharply, practically falling off the bed.  Stiles reaches for him without thinking, before wrapping his arms around himself and closing his eyes.  
  
“I’ll have the spell set up by the time you get back,” he whispers, the tears threatening to spill over again.  
  
When he opens his eyes, he’s alone.  
  
*   *   *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting towards the end...thank you for sticking with me so far!


	9. Chapter 9

The sun’s almost set by the time Stiles has finished preparing the circle. He’s sitting next to the line of ash, alone--the rest of the pack is gone, and he feels guilty gratitude towards Dee for sending them away.  It’s hard enough to admit to himself the reason the spell failed; he doesn’t think he could handle trying it again with so many other witnesses there to judge him.  
  
He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and looks up when Dee walks out of the woods...  
  
Followed by Derek.  
  
Stiles scrambles to his feet as the Alphas walk over to him.  Dee’s looking back and forth between Stiles and the circle, but Derek just stares at the ground in front of him.  Even in the falling dusk, Stiles can see the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders under his jacket.    
  
Derek stops on the far side of the circle from Stiles, but Dee keeps walking until he’s right in front of him.  Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek and focuses on Dee.    
  
Dee gives him a half-smile.  “Ready to try again?”  
  
He has a twig in his hair, and Stiles can’t keep himself from reaching up and brushing it away.  “Yeah,” he says quietly.  
  
Dee’s eyes flicker closed, and he catches Stiles’ hand.  Bringing it to his lips, he brushes a kiss across it, before leaning in and pressing their foreheads together.  
  
“Send me home,” he breathes, and Stiles nods, unable to speak.  
  
Then Dee’s in the circle, and Stiles closes it without thinking.  
  
 _Send him home._  
  
The power starts swelling immediately, and Stiles almost staggers back.  Dee’s staring at him with soft, trusting eyes, and Stiles swallows against the sharp pang in his chest.  
  
 _Send him home._  
  
He focuses as intensely as he can on the words, clenching his hands into fists as the pang in his chest starts to expand, a rising wave of panic and fear.  
  
 _Send him home._  
  
He wants to look away from Dee, but it’s like he’s frozen, staring into the face of everything he’ll never have.  He can feel the power responding, trembling and writhing like a living thing, and it’s not working.  
  
He can’t do it.  
  
He’s going to fail again.  Dee’s going to be stuck here forever, in the wrong world with the wrong pack and the wrong _Stiles_ , and Derek’s going to see it all, see how Stiles failed, leave Beacon Hills, leave the pack--  
  
 _Derek_.  
  
The Alpha’s-- _his_ Alpha’s--name whispers through his mind, and it’s like being punched in the stomach.  He actually jerks forward, towards the circle, but his eyes fly to where Derek’s standing.  
  
Derek’s glowing eyes are fixed on his, and Stiles shakes with the force of his stare.  He can’t move, can’t even think, as the last rays of the setting sun illuminate Derek’s face.  
  
Stiles is too far away to hear the word, but he reads it on Derek’s lips.  
  
 _Please_.  
  
Derek’s mouth is twisted, desperate, and he hold Stiles’ gaze without blinking.  Stiles feels like he’s falling, or floating, leaving his body behind, when Derek’s lips move again.  
  
 _Stiles_.  
  
The world falls away, and Stiles’ eyelids flutter closed.  The power coils around him, waiting, and he realizes the panic is gone.   
  
Everything is still.  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath, and smiles.  
  
When he opens his eyes, the circle is empty and Dee is gone.  
  
So is Derek.  
  
*   *   *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles is lying on his bed, curled up on his side and staring dully at his cell phone when Scott replies to his text.  
  
 _he’s fine, feel him lurking in woods_  
  
Stiles blinks at the words, willing them to make sense, when his phone beeps again.  
  
 _glad spell worked...i guess_  
  
Stiles forces down the hysterical laugh that bubbles up inside him.   Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?  He did it, the spell worked, Dee’s gone and Derek’s apparently fine...  
  
And nothing changed.  
  
Stiles is alone, the pack’s scattered back to their homes, and Derek ran away.    
  
From him.  
  
Again.  
  
His clenches his hand around his phone.  He should have known it would be like this, that everything would go back to this awful normal of theirs.  He should be used to it. It shouldn’t hurt like this.  It _wouldn’t_ hurt like this, except--  
  
Except.  
  
He shuts his eyes and tries not to think about strong arms, soft lips, warm breath in his hair, the feeling of being wanted, needed.  
  
Loved.  
  
He’s so lost in _not remembering_ that he almost doesn’t hear the quiet slide of his window being opened.  
  
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself not to react as the smell of leather, leaves, dirt, _Derek_ , washes over him.  He hears Derek crouch down in front of him, and waits.  
  
And waits.  
  
And waits.  
  
He’s just started counting back from 100, when Derek breaks the silence.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Stiles clenches his jaw, but says nothing.  
  
Derek shifts, and somehow Stiles knows he’s moved closer.  “About Scott.”  
  
It takes a moment for Stiles to figure out what he’s talking about, to remember the fight they’d had two nights ago, which had started this whole mess.  
  
“Awesome,” he says dully.  “So you’ll let him join the pack?”  
  
“Yes,” Derek sounds uncomfortable.  “If he wants.”  
  
“He does.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Silence falls again, and Stiles counts his breaths.  
  
“I didn’t mean it,” Derek says when Stiles has reached twenty inhalations.  “You--the pack--it wasn’t--”  He breaks off.  
  
“I shouldn’t have run away.”  His voice is thick with shame, and Stiles feels a rush of something ugly that makes him want to push, to twist the knife that much more.  
  
“You always run.”  The words are harsh with truth, and Derek sucks in a sharp breath.  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
His tone is so sure, so firm and resolved, that Stiles opens his eyes.  Their faces are inches apart, and Derek’s eyes are soft and sad as he leans forward.  
  
“Stiles,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.  “Tell me to stop.”  
  
Stiles shuts his eyes again, because this _can’t be real_ , just as Derek closes the distance between them.  
  
It’s barely a kiss.  Derek’s lips trace lightly over his, and Stiles can’t move.  When Derek pulls away, Stiles lets out a shaky breath, and waits to hear the sound of Derek leaving.  
  
Then Derek’s mouth is on his again, firm and soft.  “Tell me to stop,” he repeats, his tongue flicking over Stiles’ bottom lip.  
  
Stiles makes a soft noise, and parts his lips.  
  
Derek pulls back, and Stiles’ eyes fly open in panic.  Then Derek’s pressing against his shoulder, rolling him onto his back and climbing onto the bed.  Stiles watches with wide eyes as Derek slowly reaches down, pushing gently on Stiles’ knee.  Swallowing nervously, Stiles parts his legs and Derek settles down between them, hovering inches over Stiles’ body.  
  
Stiles can feel the heat radiating from Derek as he leans down, and noses along Stiles’ jaw.  
  
“ _Derek_ ,” he whimpers as the werewolf nips his neck just hard enough to hurt.  Derek growls softly, and Stiles’ arms fly up to wrap around his shoulders.  He feels the Alpha shudder, before sinking down on top of him, pressing their bodies together.  
  
Stiles chokes back a moan as he wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, pulling his hips even closer.  Derek starts rocking into him, a slow, gentle rhythm that makes Stiles gasp.  
  
Without stopping, Derek pushes up enough to look down at him.  “He--he told me you were the best thing that ever happened to him,” he chokes out, eyes wide and glowing in the dark.  “Stiles, I--I want--”  
  
“Yes,” Stiles cuts him off with a moan, because it doesn’t matter what he’s going to say, the answer will always be _yes_.  
  
Derek makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and sob, and then he’s burying his face in Stiles’ neck and Stiles is holding onto him so tightly, he doesn’t think he can ever let go.  
  
*   *   *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue to come tomorrow, because there are a couple loose ends that deserve to be reunited. ;)


	11. Epilogue

He finds Stiles sitting at his computer, knee bouncing up and down and back tight with tension. Slipping in through the window, he growls softly, just loud enough to announce his presence.

Stiles whirls around, eyes wide with worry, before flying into his arms.  
  
“Oh my _god_ , Dee, where the hell have you been?  I left like, a _hundred_ voicemails and seriously, dude, you’ve _got_ to record your own greeting because that automated one is a smug _bitch_ \--”  
  
Stiles keeps babbling until they crash against the bed.  He feels his lips twitch as the flow of words stops abruptly, to be replaced by entirely different sounds as he pushes Stiles down into the mattress.  He growls again, low and soft against the skin of Stiles’ throat.  
  
The scent of _mate_ invades his senses, filling his nose and bursting over his tongue. Lips curving in a smile, he nuzzles Stiles’ neck.  
  
Words, explanations, stories can wait.  
  
He’s _home_.  
  
  
  
 _Fin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's accompanied me on this little journey! I know it didn't turn out to be the light-hearted romp implied by the first chapter, but I hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless. Your feedback makes this all worthwhile! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first time I've posted a real WIP, rather than something that was already written and just needed to be refined. Fair warning, comments and kudos give wind to the writing wings. ;)


End file.
